


Fenris: X-Ray

by Kauri



Series: NSFW Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Cock Rings, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:50:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6778072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kauri/pseuds/Kauri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt for Fenris for X-ray. Essentially, what's going on in his pants. </p><p>Non-con bits are vagueish mentions of his past with Danarius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fenris: X-Ray

Fenris can’t masturbate.

Danarius had many rules, but that one was _particularly_ enforced. Touching himself was very much a forbidden pleasure _never_ worth the cost. Even now, years later, trying leaves him with a cold, sharp terror, and gripping a wilting cock.

It is morning, barely. Cold and still, and quiet by the lake. Fenris is still dressed for sleep, bare from the waist up, and clad in a pair of old breeches, that might have been blue at some point, and are only notable now because of their utter failure to conceal the magnitude of his erection.

It is like this most every morning. And -- by nature of his training -- once he’s hard, he can stay hard for _hours._ Any normal man might find a quiet spot behind a bush, and take matters -- quite literally -- in his own hands. But Fenris…

He makes a low, aggravated sound, fists clenching. Equal parts arousal and shame. Even if he _had_ been able to touch himself…

_Maker take him._

When he feels hands at his waist -- a touch that creeps tentatively over his hipbones, just below the blue-white markings on his flank -- he isn’t really surprised. Hawke isn’t one to leave him helpless and wanting.

The Champion’s palm roams across the flat planes of his belly --fingers dipping just below the waistband of his trousers. Fenris feels a small spurt of annoyance. But not at the touch. At the fact that he hadn’t noticed Hawke sneaking up behind him. _Again._

“Are you rogues always so energetic first thing in the morning?”

A breath of laughter against the back of his neck, and Fenris has to brace himself not to flinch against the tickle of beard against his ear. “Are you warriors not?”

The fingers dip, inching lower. He feels them stroke through his tightly cropped pubic hair, before stopping just shy of the base of his erection.

“Mmmmmm?” Hawke nuzzles into his ear.

It’s a question, and it isn’t.

Hawke’s learned not to ask for things so directly anymore.

Their first few -- _dozen_ \-- times together were not simple. Hawke had never slept with someone who had been a body-slave, and Fenris had never slept with someone of his own choosing.

When Hawke asked if he could touch, Fenris said yes. When Hawke asked if he could enter, Fenris said yes. And when Hawke asked if it felt good, Fenris had frozen, panicked and then nearly stormed off in a half-hysterical rage, because answers like that had consequences, and how was he supposed to know such a thing?!

He’d been trained to obey.

_Yes. More. Please._

The language of service.

How it felt was irrelevant. What he wanted was irrelevant.

They fumbled through those early couplings. Sometimes in rage. Sometimes in tears. Sometimes in terror at the unexpected font of pain that would open beneath the tenderest of touches. They untangled what of Danarius’ training they could. Found other paths when they could not.

Hawke learned not to ask things that Fenris couldn’t -- _still_ doesn’t know how, to give.

Sometimes Fenris says no, just to prove to himself that he _can._ That refusal is allowed. That Hawke would actually stop, and that he himself is even capable of asking for such a thing.

But he so rarely _wants_ Hawke to stop.

_Yes. More. Please._

Fenris doesn’t use these words anymore. Doesn’t trust himself with them.

So when Hawke presses himself closer, mummering another sound that’s a question, but isn’t; Fenris gives his consent in other ways. In breath. In body. In hands that move behind, and grasp at Hawke’s half-hard cock, pressed against the small of his back, squeezing once, tenderly, before falling away.

He feels Hawke move his lips to the base of his neck. Feels the smile on those lips as they press kisses across the tops of his shoulders. The hand in his pants slips lower, wraps around his erection, gripping firmly at the base, while Hawke uses his other to gently tug the laces of his trousers open. A shiver of anticipation races up Fenris’ spine and he feels his balls clench tight with arousal.

He hisses when Hawke pulls him out; the morning air is colder than is truly comfortable for such bits of anatomy.

A growl near his ear. “Describe what you feel, Fenris.”

Another technique. Questions have right answers, and wrong. Descriptions are truth without judgement.

“Cold.” Fenris growls.

Hawke chuckles, takes a firm grip around the base of Fenris’ cock, and starts to move his hand up and down the long, long length of him, stroking him slowly, almost languidly, until he’s fully erect.

“Pressure.” Fenris gasps. “Pulling. Ah… dizzy?”

“Is that a question?”

“Dizzy.” His breathing hitches. “Full. _Floating.”_  The last word is a sigh. Fenris lets his head fall back until it rests against Hawke’s shoulder as the sensations purl in his belly, like ink dropped in water. He’s so, so hard, and... “Hawke…” Voice is rough, half broken. “Tell… tell me… Describe what you feel...”

“Cock.”

Fenris thumps his head against Hawke’s shoulder with an annoyed huff. “Try again.”

“Thick.” Hawke pants against his ear. “Hot. Dripping.” He drags his thumb up Fenris’ length with a smirk, and pinches at the sensitive skin of his frenulum just below the head of his cock. “Lovely.”

Fenris moans at the sensation.

Hawke never calls him beautiful. It was a word Danarius used. He was always beautiful. Beautiful like a painting. Beautiful face. Beautiful body. Taking it, beautifully.

When he was in a mood, his Master would often threaten to tattoo his cock. To trace lyrium marking along his length, and under his balls, so that he would never again feel pleasure that wasn’t edged with pain. Never forget to whom he belonged.

But Danarius never did.

It took Fenris a long time to realize this was no mercy. Only a man wary of breaking his favorite toy.

Still, Danarius made it clear whose cock it was. He had Fenris shaved, circumcised, and pierced with a heavy-gauged ring. He’d often lead Fenris around by that ring, sometimes attaching a gilded chain to the end. Paraded him around like a tamed beast. When he gained his freedom, removing that ring had been one of the first things Fenris had done. But in truth he’d grown so accustomed to the feel of it, that its absence was a greater burden than its presence.

So he put it in again. By _choice,_ this time.

Besides, he _liked_ when Hawke played with it. As he does now, snaking one finger through the ring -- slick with pre-come --  to tug on it gently as he strokes him.

Fenris bites back on a moan, shivering as the calluses on Hawke’s hand _drag_ up and down his length.

“I love this.” Hawke whispers against his ear, voice rough with arousal. “I love touching you.” He cups a hand beneath, rolling the Elf’s balls gently in his palm, the other strokes him, harder and faster than before. “Describe what you feel.”

“Heat.” Fenris pants, mind blanking as pleasure courses through him. He thrusts into Hawke’s slickening palm, a little. “Straining. C _lose.”_

Hawke buries his smile at the back of the Elf’s neck. He already knows. Fenris is wriggling in his grasp, panting raggedly in Tevene. His tattoos are shifting, too, growing more visible. Not just opaque but shiny. They’ll _glow_ when he comes.

It’s why he was made a bed slave too, and not just a bodyguard. The _novelty._

Hawke lets his touch sharpen, tugs on Fenris’ cock in earnest, lets the Elf’s stuttering hips guide him.

He slides his hand over Fenris’ mouth as his cries start to crescendo. They’ve no need for words any longer, and the Elf tends to get noisy. Fenris opens his mouth, draws Hawkes fingers between his lips. One of them moans, thick and growly, but he can’t be sure who. His toes curl in the soft earth of the riverbank.

He wants… needs… he _can’t..._

Hawke bites down on Fenris’ shoulder as he works him, the small flash of pain spurring him, lifting him. “Close.” Fenris gasps, insistent. _“Close…_ Hawke!”

“Shhhhh…” Hawke insists, breath soft against his shoulders, a calm contrast to the frantic rutting of Fenris’ hips. “You can come.”

A whisper of command, of _permission_ , and that’s all it takes. Hawke’s hand clenches and his hips stutter to an abrupt halt as he lets go, releasing in pulses into the cool, still air. Hawke presses a hand back over his mouth, muffling his cries. It seems unnecessary. It’s hardly to protect their privacy, not when it’s still dark enough that Fenris’ brands glow, beacon-bright and blinding.

The light fades, and as his awareness comes back Fenris realizes Hawke is clutching him, keeping him upright, his legs tremble bonelessly.

Do they always do that?

He pushes away, just a little, enough so that Hawke knows he can stand by himself again.

Hawke’s eyes are bright, his smirk -- not quite wide enough to be a smile -- half-hidden in the tangles of his beard. There’s a large, conspicuously wet spot at the front of Hawke’s trousers. He must have… but he didn’t even…

Hawke’s grin gets even wider, and Fenris rolls his eyes.

That man.

_Love._

It floats into his mind, hanging heaving at the back of his tongue. It’s another of the forbidden words. One that’s still too difficult, and complicated to say. So instead he says the one word that has always _meant_ love, to the man that has always given him protection, and kindness, and acceptance.

“Hawke.”

**Author's Note:**

> So this work escalated from a "let's talk about Fenris' dick" story to some more complex themes about post-sexual & emotional abuse and how complex unwinding some of those experiences can be.


End file.
